The Fourth Try
by crepemyrtle2
Summary: Ron remembers the first four times he and Hermione kissed.


The first kiss was fueled by fear and passion. Hermione had launched herself at Ron without warning, basilisk fangs clattering to the floor, Harry watching the whole time.

The second kiss came the next morning on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, where Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny had fallen asleep late into the night. None of them had wanted to go up to the dormitories. Those rooms and those beds seemed part of another, long ago life. They weren't alone in the sentiment. Seamus was asleep on an armchair, Luna had curled up next to the fire, and Neville had paced all night, hopped up on adrenalin he couldn't seem to shake. The dawn had come, and Hermione had stirred against Ron's shoulder where she'd fallen asleep, waking Ron. He mumbled "G'morning, love," and watched as she blushed and looked up at him. Ron went in for the kiss then, and it was an awkward thing, his bottom lip catching her top lip, their noses bumping.

Hermione had touched her mouth lightly, and said, "Shall we go d-down and sort out b-breakfast?" and Ron thought to himself, _I am absolute shit at this._

Their third kiss happened later that night at the Burrow. It had been a long day in which Ron, Harry, Hermione, Ginny and the other Weasleys had said goodbye to everyone at Hogwarts, including the fallen, who were still in the makeshift mortuary Madame Pomfrey had set up. Arthur had a hard time convincing Molly and George to leave Fred's side, and in the end, Madame Pomfrey gave them each a soothing tea that did the trick.

Ron had a headache from holding back tears, and his throat felt as if someone had shoved another bezoar down it. Hermione held his hand through it all. When he broke down that night while alone in his bedroom, crying into a pillow to muffle the sound, Hermione had somehow sensed his anguish. She'd knocked softly on the door, then, let herself in. Ron knew it was Hermione without having to look up. He felt her hand on his back and on his hair, heard her whisper, "Oh, Ron, darling, I'm so sorry," which helped more than he thought it would.

"I'll be alright," he'd told her, and patted her cheek, and she'd blinked back her own tears. Then, Hermione had kissed him, a feather-light kiss that lasted a few seconds.

"Bring you some tea?" she suggested.

Ron shook his head, gazed at her face, her own swollen eyes. "No, thank you. You're knackered, too," he told her, and she nodded, squeezed his hand and wished him a good night before returning to the room she was sharing with Ginny.

They had been good kisses, all of them, and Ron wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.

But the fourth kiss, the fourth was the one he would remember best, the one he would recall with accuracy for the rest of his life. The fourth time Ron Weasley kissed Hermione Granger, was a week after the war had ended. It was dark and the night was clear, and Hermione was outside, putting up protective spells around the Burrow, as she had done every night for the last five nights. Arthur had told her that the Burrow was well protected, but Hermione had insisted on adding her spells to the wards. When Arthur began to protest, Molly had held his wrist and shook her head. "Let the girl do what she needs to do to feel safe," she whispered. "We all must do what we need to do," she added, and Arthur understood completely.

Ron watched from the doorway as Hermione raised her wand and whispered into the sky. She was wearing one of Ginny's summer dresses, and her hair was tied up in a knot. Hermione was barefoot, and her toes flexed as she cast her spell, digging into the wet ground. Ron wondered if she always wiggled her toes when doing magic, and half a smile tugged at his mouth at the thought. It was such a simple, silly thing, thinking about Hermione's toes, and he was filled with a lightness he had not felt in months. This girl, this brilliant woman, was his. His! Toes and all.  
"You don't have to do that, y'know," Ron said behind her, and Hermione jumped.

"Ugh, you frightened me," she admonished him. "And I know I don't have to. I want to though."

Ron crossed the distance between them. "You're safe here, with me, you know that right? And I'll never leave you again," he said, wondering why the hell he would bring _that_ up at this moment.

Hermione cast another spell towards the east. "I know that now," she said. She sent a spell north. "And now, I can be sure that you are safe here, too." She cast the last spell, this one towards the western edge of the Weasley homestead.

The moon was bright and full, and the scar at Hermione's throat was visible. Ron's eyes threatened to spill over all of the sudden, and he sniffed loudly to stop them. "Mione," he started, and then found that perhaps what he wanted to say couldn't really be said. Words were not enough. "C'mere," he said hoarsely, placed his hand on the small of her back, and pulled her forward. He bent down and his lips found hers. This time, their noses did not bump, and their lips seemed to fit together properly. Hermione opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, and Ron did as well. She made a soft, little sound that vibrated in Ron's mouth and ears. He put his free hand on the back of her head, his fingers in her hair. Vaguely, he felt her hands around his neck and on his back.

When they pulled apart at last, they were both flushed, and they laughed softly. Ron bent down and kissed her earlobe, and she swatted his shoulder playfully. "This was my favorite. Kiss number four," he whispered.

"Are we counting them?" Hermione asked, her eyes twinkling.

"I admit I've been," Ron said, rubbing the stubble on his cheek.

Hermione laughed. "Me too. But we'll lose track eventually," she said.

"We will?" Ron asked, and he felt even lighter than before.

"A person can only count so high," Hermione said.

"Merlin, Hermione," Ron said, and kissed her a fifth time.


End file.
